


Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019

by Mouse9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: A collection of seven stories for the 2019 Sherlolly Appreciation Week.All Sherlolly, all the time.





	1. A Simple Courtesy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @Ukthxbye for the beta and the story titles.

The sudden pounding on her door shocked her out of the movie she was watching.  Looking up with a frown, she stared at the offending door waiting.   
  
The pounding sounded once more.  Toby’s head lifted from her lap where he’d been resting, green eyes staring at the door also.  Her hand automatically drifted towards his head, stroking the fur soothingly before climbing to her feet.   
  
Toby let out a plaintive yowl, a discontented announcement that he was not happy that his pillow had moved.   
  
Ignoring the complaints, she approached the door, tugging her ratty dressing gown closer to her.  
  
The third pounding caused her to rush to the door finally, reaching it and placing her hand on the knob.  
  
“I can hear your footsteps. Let me in.”  The voice on the other side was as familiar to her as her own voice. Slipping the chain and unlatching the door, she opened it and hurriedly stepped to the side to allow Sherlock to stride in.  
  
“What in the…”  
  
He was covered with soot, having at least the common courtesy to take off his shoes in the hallway before stepping into her flat.  Soot and…was that grease?  
  
“Bad day, was it?”  she asked, the corner of her mouth quirking up.  The quick exasperated glance towards her told that he was not in the mood for jokes.   
  
He began to slip off his greatcoat.  
  
“I need-“  
  
“No!”  she shouted.  He halted in the middle of taking off his coat and looked at her, his eyes showing confusion and a bit of hurt.  “You are not to take that off in here.  Not on my rugs, I just cleaned them!”  
  
The expression in his eyes faded back to annoyance which he followed with an exasperated huff.  She waved him towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.  
  
“In there. Take everything off in there where I can sweep up after you’re finished.”  She didn’t even blush at her demand that he strip. She didn’t have the time, more worried about particulates on her rugs.  She’d remember later and be horrified at her words.   
  
“I have some clothing you can wear instead, things you’ve left over from previous stays.”  
  
She followed him down the hallway, stopping right outside the bathroom.  “There are fresh towels on the stand.  I’ll bring a bag to shove your clothing in until I can clean them.”  
  
Obediently, he followed her instructions as she spoke, even though by his expression it would seem to anyone else he wasn’t listening to a word she said.  He paused a moment once inside the bathroom, letting her finish her instructions before closing the door, his back still to her, his attention focused on pulling his shirt off.   
  
She wandered back towards the guest room, where she kept some of the supplies he’d left here for times he used her place as a bolt hole.  She didn’t mind, not really.  He needed a place and she was happy to share it with him.  Maybe not the giving up of her bedroom but it was fine.   
  
Picking out a pair of track pants and a tee shirt, she wandered back towards the bathroom door.  She stared at it, biting her lip.  Should she knock or just leave them outside?  She couldn’t hear any noise and the water hadn’t turned on yet.  
  
As if to answer her question, the door opened, just enough for Sherlock to lean out, bare-chested from behind it.   
  
Molly’s eyes widened, her cheeks pinking.  He plucked the clothing from her hands with a cocky grin.  
  
“The bag Molly?”  he asked, watching her.   
  
“The…oh, right. Sorry.”  
  
“Molly?”  He called as she turned away to go to the kitchen.  She turned back curiously.   
  
“You need something else?”  she asked.   
  
The grin turned soft for a moment and those eyes locked on to hers.   
  
“Thank you.”  He said simply, before shutting the door.   
  
She blinked.  And then smiled.   
  
He really did appreciate her.  Just because he never said the words, hardly said thank you, he told her in different ways.  She could be content.  
 


	2. Holmes and Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Molly stands before a Holmes and a Watson after a fight to tend to their wounds. 
> 
> (in the TPoS verse)

“I am sorry.  Forgive me.”

Molly instantly transported back to one cold winter’s night, a party, and a humiliating tear down that resulted in the very same words being said to her. 

She looked down at her child who stood before her, an almost carbon copy of his father, school uniform torn, dirt on his face, knuckles red and scrapped.  Standing beside him his partner in crime looking identical in stance and level of dirt and torn clothing, save the truly remorseful look on her face.

_ Holmes and Watson,  _ she thought.   _ It doesn’t matter the generation, there will always be scrapes when those two names come together. _

As carefully as she could with her very pregnant body, she sat in the nearest kitchen chair to look at the two of them.  If she crouched down, she’d never get back up.

“There is nothing to forgive.”  She said, her voice calm and reassuring.  Simultaneously, two sets of blue eyes lifted to look at her.  “You were defending someone’s honour, no matter how unnecessary it was.”

“It was too necessary,” the youngest Watson burst out, her blue eyes flashing once more in unrestrained indignation.  “That wanker- “

“Rosamund…”  she warned.

“-insulted you!”  She continued as if Molly hadn’t just called her out on using a word she wasn’t allow to quite yet. “Will would have had him if those two other boys hadn’t jumped into the fight.”

Behind Molly, leaning against the kitchen island, Dana looked sternly at the two miscreant children.  Molly sighed lightly, holding out her hand.

“But am I hurt?”  she asked. “I thank you both but trust me, people have been saying cruel and hurtful things about me long before either of you were a twinkle in your mother’s eyes.”  Her focus went between the two children, first Will, then Rosie and back. “I’ve long learned to ignore them or to feel sorry for them. They’re jealous, my loves.” Giving another loving smile, she held her hand out to the both of them.  “Children emulate their parents or what they see at home. If this boy is saying horrible things about me at school, he heard them from his parents and is merely trying to hurt you. And he succeeded.”

Both Will and Rosie took her hand and she tugged them both in towards her, pulling them both into an awkward hug. 

“Thank you both.  For fighting for me.  But no more, all right?”

Both children nodded, hugging her back. 

Behind her Dana smiled and glanced up at the sound of the front door opening.  Her eyes widened as she took in the scene that appeared moments later just at the kitchen entryway.  Scuffed up clothing, bruised eyes, knuckles red and scrapped. 

“What the hell happened to you two?”  she exclaimed, straightening from her previous position. 

The two children turned and Molly looked up, her eyes widening as well. 

“We got into a bit of a scuffle.”  John said, his hand scratching at the back of his head.  He pulled away a small twig with a frown. Sherlock’s gaze took in the room in the matter of seconds. 

“What happened?  Why are you two upset? Who did you get into a fight with?”

“You’re one to talk.”  Dana countered. Molly couldn’t help but grin.

“Remember what I said about children emulating their parents?” 

Rosie snickered and John noticed her torn shirt. 

“Rosamund Watson!  That’s the third shirt this month!”

“It’s not my fault!”  Rosie countered, back on the defensive.

“Everything is fine.  There was just a misunderstanding at school.  It’s all been taken care off.” Molly soothed.

“Come on you two.”  Dana said, moving from her place at the counter. “Down the hallway to the bathroom.  You can both clean up in there while I find you clean, unripped clothes.”

She herded the two children out of the kitchen, stopping for a moment beside the two men.  “You’d both be smart to do the same.”

“Help?” 

Sherlock turned and immediately stepped forward to help Molly out of the kitchen chair.

“What happened?”  John asked, making his way to the kitchen sink.

“Thank you.  It’s nothing really.  There was an argument at school, some child made what I can assume was a disparaging comment about me and Will went after him. Then two of the boys’ friends jumped in and that’s when Rosie came to the rescue.”

Holding his hands, she examined Sherlock’s swollen knuckles. “They were appropriately remorseful.  Now,” Her eyes lifted to meet hi. “What happened to the two of you?”

“Small scuffle with a criminal, like John said.” He explained, allowing her to look him over.  “He didn’t want to go, and Greg was late as usual getting to the rendezvous point.”

“He wasn’t late.”  John countered, gingerly wiping his hand off with a towel.  “Molls do you have any- “

“Top shelf of the cupboard by the garden door.” She responded knowing exactly what he was looking for.

“Thanks.”

“Here I tell the kids that they shouldn’t be fighting and you two show up looking just as bedraggled as they did.”  She clucked her tongue, letting go of his hand. “Go wash up in the sink and I’ll fix your wounds.”

Sherlock bent his head and pressed a kiss onto her forehead.  “What would we ever do without you, Molly?”

As she watched him walk to the sink to wash his hands, and John bring the first aid kit to the counter, she couldn’t help but revisit her thought.

_ Holmes and Watson. _ _ It doesn’t matter the generation, there will always be scrapes when those two names come together. _


	3. Law and Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue attempt turns into something more.   
> With a twist.  
> (aka: The one with the Mystrade nod)

The abandoned house was just shy of being considered condemned. It was the type of place could have been unintentionally converted into a flophouse, if the half of the second story had not completely landed on the stairs rendering it all but uninhabitable, even for the lowest of junkies. 

It was also where one Molly Hooper and one DI Greg Lestrade were currently being held in the basement, previously zip-tied and gagged as their kidnapper reached out to his contacts. 

Greg pulled the gag from Molly’s mouth before trying to cut her bonds loose.  His own wrist bleeding where the hard plastic broke the skin when he escaped. 

“Why are you here?”  Molly hissed as he took a pocket knife from his leg holster. 

“Me?”  he hissed back, as he sawed through her bonds.  “I’m here trying to rescue you.”

“Brilliant job you did at that.”  She cut back.

“Oi, you’re welcome Hooper.” 

The plastic broke, and she rubbed at her wrists, scrambling up from her chair, her expression remorseful. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry Greg.  I’m grateful, really. I’m just angry at getting myself caught.”

“Which is why you leave it to the professionals Molls,”  Tucking the knife back into its holding, he looked her over.  “Are you okay?”

“The professionals were answering their phones or on a date.”  She retorted. “Yes, thank you. I only meant to follow up on what I found on the body, then let someone know.  I mean, it’s not every day one finds a million dollar ruby in the stomach lining of a victim. I didn’t expect to get caught.”

“Nobody ever expects to get caught.  That’s why it always comes as such a surprise.”

“Cheeky.”

He grinned and then looked around. 

“Right,  so, hopefully the Calvary is on their way.  I left word on a lead and if I’m right, Sally’s already calling out the squad because I missed my call in.”

Molly snorted.  “Thank God for the Met.”

“You’re bloody right.”

They fell silent for a moment. 

“Sorry about your date.”

Greg shrugged.  “It seems I’m chasing your record for most unintentional dates with criminals one can have.”

Molly giggled.  “Nope. I will always win.  I dated the man who almost broke London several times whereas you only accidentally dated a jewel thief.”

“A jewel thief that made off with more than enough baubles from the Duchess of Salisbury and probably put my career in jeopardy.  Should’ve known it was too good to be true.”

From above them the sounds of fighting suddenly broke out and Greg immediately grabbed Molly pulling her behind him.  Looking around, he spied a piece of broken wood and grabbed it, intending to use it as a weapon if whomever came down here wasn’t a friend. 

Shots rang out, echoing in the nearly empty room and behind him Molly flinched. 

He heard the shouts and the thundering of footsteps down the stairs. 

“Molly!” the familiar voice of Sherlock shouted, followed by another voice. 

Molly let out a soft cry. 

“Sherlock?  We’re down here!”

She stepped out from behind Greg as someone slammed against the door.  The door held. 

The banging came again and then once more as the door splintered but held. A single shot and the lock burst off the door flying open and Sherlock Holmes racing into the room, eyes wildly searching until they landed on Molly. 

“Of all the foolish, idiotic, dangerous things…”  he began, as he hurried towards where she stood. “You could have been…”

Grabbing her into his arms, he held her tightly against him, uncaring of anyone else who entered the room or might already be in it. 

“I could’ve lost you.”  He whispered. “I can’t lose you, Molly.”

Her cheek pressed against his chest, hands wrapped tightly around his waist underneath his coat. “You won’t. I promise.”

“You’re damned right I won’t, marry me.”

Molly looked up.  “What?”

His eyes were blue at this moment, almost shockingly, as he stared down at her with a possessive fierceness she felt in her toes.  “Marry me. I’ll not chance losing you without ever letting you know how much you mean to me.”

A smile slid across her face.  “Sherlock, y-“

"For the sake of law and order, I‘d suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship." A voice snapped behind them. 

Both Sherlock and Molly, stopped and turned towards the voice. 

Mycroft glared coldly at Greg.  Greg, with folded arms, stared back undaunted. 

“How in the bloody hell was I supposed to know she was an international jewel thief?”  he shot back.

“You are a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard, the name itself lends to that answer.”

Greg leaned in close, raising an eyebrow.  “Well, perhaps with a certain member of the British government would get his collective head out of his collective arse and just ask me out on a date, I wouldn’t have to resort to dating International jewel thieves.”

“Do you mind?”  Sherlock yelled.  Both men looked over at them. 

“I am in the middle of something here.  Take your… spat elsewhere.”

Promptly ignoring them, he turned back to Molly, who was biting her lip to keep from grinning.  An eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“Yes.”  She squeaked out.  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He grinned happily, pulling her to him in a hug which she returned with a laugh. 

“I promise, I’ll spend the rest of our time making sure you know how much I love you.”  He promised. 

She lifted her chin, inviting him to kiss her.  As their lips almost met, her eyes suddenly widened, and she pulled back a bit.

“Hold on.  Did Greg just ask Mycroft out on a date?”


	4. One Desperate Plea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4- When Sherlock need help, Molly will do anything he needs in order to make sure he successfully survives.  
> Anything.

 

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am, everything I think I am, would you still want to help me?”

Molly’s eyes lifted slowly upward until she met his piercing intense gaze.  The black pupils of his eyes widened, almost obscuring the bright blue of his irises.  His expression was open, questioning, apprehensive.

Her breath shallowed as their eyes locked.  She could feel the hard wood of the door at her back, the metal of the doorknob pressing against her side, the movement of the cool air as the temperature regulator kicked on, lifting strands of her hair.

Sherlock’s gaze never wavered, eyes never moved from her face. 

Her heart pounded loud in her hears, could feel the rhythmic thump beating against her chest.  He wanted her help, need her help.

She would do whatever he needed, it didn’t matter what the papers said, what the rumours said, she knew the truth of him.  Always had, always would.

“What do you need?”  she repeated firmly.

Sherlock took a step closer to her, the dark of his eyes impossibly wider, his gaze still holding her still.

“You.”  He answered, his voice deep and almost a whisper. 

Her legs turned to jelly and she was grateful for the door.

“I need you, Molly,” he continued, a hand lifting, fingers brushing the strands of her ponytail away from her shoulders. “Your mind, your loyalty, your promise,” Those mesmerizing eyes flash red.  “Your blood.”

Those long fingers brushed at the side of her neck and she knew he could feel the rapid staccato her pulse played, she could feel it in her head as he spoke.

“In order to me to beat him, to beat Moriarty, I need strength.  I need stamina.  And I’m wearing down, Molly.”  His voice was soothing, warm, flowing over her like a warm river, the way it always had. 

“I’m tired, and I need you, Molly, to help me.”

A finger slid against her jugular and she sucked in a breath.  He hadn’t blinked, in all this time, since he caught her with his gaze, he hadn’t blinked. 

“It won’t be too much, I promise.  Rather like donating blood,” His lips quirked upward as if this was a joke they were both in on and finally her gaze broke, her eyes flicked down to his lips before looking back at him. 

He was watching the path his finger drew against her neck before returning to her face. “I can make it not hurt.  You won’t feel a thing, I promise.”

“I…”  her voice wouldn’t work.  She swallowed hard, and his eyes flashed to where her throat was working. Lowering her hand, she allowed her bag to slip to the floor.  Another movement and her jacket followed. 

“I’m not afraid of it hurting.”  She managed to get out as she unbuttoned the top buttons of her jumper.  “I trust you, Sherlock.  Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.  I’ll help you.”

His lips curled up into a tender smile, and for a moment she felt as if the sun had come out in the middle of the evening, shining solely on her.

“Molly Hooper,” he murmured.  “You are something else.”

“That’s a good thing?”  she asked, hopefully.

“A very good thing.”

Hands came up again, this time to unbutton the first two buttons of her blouse, moving the material aside to expose her neck.  Her breath caught as the implications and her classes on Dracula the subtext of what fangs sliding into throats represented in the book.  Her hands were shaking as he moved closer. 

“I won’t hurt you.” 

“I know.”  She whispered. 

“Then why are you shaking?”

“I don’t know.”

His face was close now, closer than it had ever been and unconsciously she licked her lips, watching his expression.  His hands cradled her face, tilting her head to the side to expose her neck.  She felt a soft kiss and her body shuddered. 

“Thank you, Molly Hooper.”

Before she could say you’re welcome, there was a flash of pain and then…

She let out an involuntary gasp, her hands reaching out to hold onto his shoulders.  He was right, it didn’t hurt. Quite the opposite.

She swayed towards him, her body lax as he drank from her.  There was never any question.  From the moment she’d seen him in the dark, she unhesitant asking what he needed, there had never been any doubt in her mind that she would help him.  No matter what. She always would.

Always.


	5. Pas de Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5- You can't do this again, can you?

“That was just…wow.” Molly released a breath as she settled back.  Beside her, Sherlock mouth lifted in a grin. 

“It was, wasn’t it.” 

“I just can’t believe…what the heck? Where did you even learn…”

“I am a quick study, Molly.  The mechanics of it isn’t too difficult.”  Leaning forward, he caught her gaze. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“You know I did…”  she bit her lip, lifting her chin. He smiled softly.

“But you can’t do it again, can you.”

She shook her head.  “It’s rather like exercise.  I’ve used muscles I haven’t used in years.  My body is going to be screaming at me tomorrow morning.”

His chuckle was low, making her shiver.   Laying back, she looked up at the scene above her. Scaffolding and sandbags criss-crossed in the air above her and just outward from where she laid, the domed ceiling awash with brilliant colours depicting a renaissance style sky with the cherubs holding linens. 

“Thank you for my present.”  She said, turning her head a little to look up at him. 

“Of course.”

“How did you get one of London’s best ballet Masters to come here anyway.”

“I helped her family when I was on the run.”  He answered unhesitatingly. “In Bucharest it was in my power to help with the local cartel that threatened her family.  I did what was needed, she and her family came here and she was happy to come in and offer her services when I called.

“But a pas de deux?”  she asked. “I had dance when I was younger, to the best of my knowledge, you didn’t.  How did you pick up the steps so easily?”

He shrugged, shifting around to face her.  “Mummy did teach us to dance when we were younger.  Granted, it was the waltz but…” His expressions slackened, his eyes growing dim as if caught in a memory.  “I was four. Eurus was jealous because she wanted to learn how to dance and mummy was only teaching Mycroft and I for some party he was invited to.  She taught herself ballet and demanded I attend her. So she taught me until she grew bored and took up the violin.”

Molly sat up, turning to face him, knees up as their slippered feet touched.  He blinked and gave her a tight smile. “I bled a lot during those two years. First my feet then my fingers.  She demanded perfection and as you know, perfection takes blood.”

She reached out to him, her brow lowered to a frown.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

Shaking his head he climbed to his feet.  “They aren’t bad, just…unexpected.”

He reached his hands towards her and she took them, climbing to her feet.  Brushing the dust from her stockings, she walked hand in hand with him across the stage towards the back where their clothing was stored in one of the dressing rooms. 

“Thank you.”  She said fondly.  “For dancing with me.”

Squeezing her hand, he nodded.  “I will always want to dance with you Molly Hooper.” His smiled turned lascivious.  “If you’re still sore later, I am also willing to offer my services as a masseuse.”

She laughed as they reached backstage. “Why do I suspect that would lead to us stretching muscles we might not have used yet?”

“I guarantee you, you are more than adequately warmed up for future workouts.”


	6. Last Ditch Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6- I'm worried about you Molly, you seemed stressed.

“I’m worried about you Molly, you seemed stressed.”

Molly spun around staring disbelievingly at the open window.

“You’re not supposed to be here!”  she hissed.  “It’s bad luck…”

Sherlock dropped in through the open second-story window, stopping momentarily to brush off his suit coat before continuing into the room.

“…to see the bride before the wedding, yes, yes, I know.”  He waved off her words.  “but honestly, Molly, the term back luck is a myth, you make your own luck.  But of course if you’re speaking of incidents that we’ve had that have turned out poorly, you have to admit, almost everything had turned out well in the end, as will this.”

She stared at him, watching him pace around the small dressing room, spouting off his observation in that annoying lecture tone he adopted when he wanted to show off or when…

“You’re nervous.” 

He flinched slightly, glancing at her.  His eyes swept over her form quickly, taking in key pieces; the long white silk and taffeta dress she wore, pearls in an upswept hairstyle,  light makeup, pink lipstick, tiny diamonds he’d bought her exactly one month after they’d officially begun “dating” adorning her ears, before turning away.

“I dislike it when you deduce me.”  His attention was drawn outside where a black limo was pulling down the long drive.

“You’re nervous.”  She repeated, ignoring his deflection. 

“Of course I’m nervous.”  He snapped, spinning on his heels to look back at her.  “We aren’t quite married yet, there’s still quite a bit of time for you to come to your senses, pull off that dress and shimmy down the tree that is conveniently placed just outside this window.  More than enough time for you to realize you could do so much better than an ex-junkie with a danger fixation who enjoys solving crimes as a part-time occupation.  You deserve someone who will buy you a house in the country where you can go home every evening and not have to worry about which homicidal psychopath is going to try to use, kidnap or murder you as a means to get to me.  You deserve-”

Molly stepped in front of his pacing, blocking his path.  Her hands raised, pressing lightly against his chest as he approached her. 

“I deserve what I want.”  She said, a counter to his protests.  He opened his mouth to speak and she raised a hand, two fingers pressed lightly against his lips.  He immediately quieted. 

“What I deserve is to marry the man I love, that I choose to love and to be happy for however many days are allowed to us.  It could be three days, it could be three years, it could be thirty years.  You could get bored one day and decide to move to the country and raise bees.”

“Bees are a vital part of our ecosystem.”  His words escaped, muffled, past her fingers.

“It doesn’t matter where you go or what happens, all I ask is that I am right beside you throughout all of it.  All the highs and lows, all the good times and bad.  Just as I have always been.”  She flashed a quick grin.  “Only now I get snogs and shags.”

He snorted, reaching up and wrapping his fingers around the ones by his lips. 

“I don’t deserve you, Molly Hooper.”

His words made her blush.  “Probably not.  But I deserve you.”

Casting a glance towards the open window, the sound of laughter coming from below them, she looked back at Sherlock.

“Is that why you snuck in through the window?  To make sure I didn’t try to escape that way?”

His shrug was enough response.  She giggled, her fingers squeezing his.

“I love you, you clot.”

Banging on the door to her dressing room, broke the moment. 

“I know you’re in there!”  the annoyed voice of John Watson yelled from outside.  “You know you’re not supposed to be in there!”

Molly giggled, burying her face against his chest. 

“If you don’t get out here right now, I swear I’ll…”

“There’s a limo parked right outside this window.”  He told her, his voice low as he held her.  “We both climb out the window, steal the car, drive to the nearest village and get married.”

“You planned all of this.”

“I can un-plan it.”

Another bang to the door.  “I’m giving you to the count of three, Sherlock!”

“Your mother would kill you,”  she said.  “And no offence, I’m more scared of your mum sometimes than I am of Mycroft.”

“One!”

“Mycroft is a teddy bear compared to Mummy.”

“Two!”

The door opened and they both turned around.  Meena’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene both in the room and right outside.  She pointed a manicured nail towards Sherlock. 

“You.  Out.”

Molly giggled.  “Caught.”

John stormed into the room and grabbed Sherlock by the coat sleeve.  “Right.  Come on you arse.”

“Not too late!” Sherlock yelled as he was manhandled out of the room.  Molly couldn’t stop smiling. 

“See you in ten minutes.”

Shutting the door on them, Meena looked at her best friend.

“I can’t leave you alone for two minutes, can I?”

Laughing, Molly turned back to the mirror, fixing her veil. 

“In a few hours, I won’t be alone anymore.”

 


End file.
